Black. That's all my cell phone screen showed. Black. No sign of life whatsoever. Changing the plug-in and pushing all the little button thingies did nothing to resuscitate it. Just a black screen and it sent me into panic. It was a major lesson in how dependent I'd become on this amazing piece of technology. I put in a call to my cell phone guru, Deb. (This happened Saturday night.) She had no ready answer. Being the weekend, the store was closed so there would be no help until Monday. Aaargh. I don't actually make many phone calls with the cell, but living alone as I do with a lifestyle fraught with dangers to self or animals, I carry it with me at all times. I text and message frequently, but use it most as a camera, always at the ready.
Back in the day, telephones were black, weighed ten pounds, and the short, cloth-covered cord didn't even have curls. If you dialed O on the rotary dial, there was always a very nice lady (always a lady), a real person, who would look up numbers, place long-distance calls, and deal with emergencies as there was no 911 then. The thing is, once you left the house, you lost contact with the "outside world." Now the cell phone and the computer keep me in touch with friends around the world. And mine had gone black, deader than a doornail.
Early yesterday morning, Deb called (on the land line). Bless her heart, she had looked up a possible solution to try. I put the house phone on speaker, another great innovation, to use both hands to push two buttons simultaneously. Ta da! Cell phone revived, I felt I had rejoined the human race.